


Necessary Annoyances

by ladypimpernel



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Eggsy as Galahad, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Harry Hart Lives, Harry Hart is Arthur, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Examination, Merlin is a doctor, Merlin is your supervisor, Minor Injuries, Reader-Insert, new recruits are pretty much kids, so I guess this makes it sort of an AU, there's all sorts of fanon up in here, young agents being broken in
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4043035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladypimpernel/pseuds/ladypimpernel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You just wanted to be left alone after the mission that ended with your now incapacitated partner crashing a stolen cab into the Thames.  <i>He</i> won't let you.  You suppose that's what happens when your direct supervisor is the Chief Medical Officer of the organization voted most likely to kill its own agents.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Necessary Annoyances

**Author's Note:**

> You guys wanted a Merlin/Reader fic. Here it is. I meant it to be a bit fluffier and a "Merlin is secretly concerned about his charge" fic, but I'm not sure it came off that way. Enjoy all the same!  
> {Now with necessary edits!}

Caradoc is an _idiot_. 

It wasn't your idea to steal the cab in the middle of London in the first place - never mind the whole driving it into the Thames thing. Regardless, the passenger side of the car is no match for your belt buckle, which quickly slices through most of the window panel. You choke on the dirty water as you surface, Merlin's voice in your ear assuring, _Help is on the way._ You're more concerned with the sudden nosebleed you seem to have. This prompts the statement "Got it good, didn't you?" from your ass of a partner. He's one to talk - a large cut over his left eye blooming red as he speaks. 

You manage to beg off most of the medics at the scene. You let them wrap a bandage over your smarting ankle before taking a taxi to headquarters...alone this time.

You're greeted by a smirking Galahad - no - Arthur. You chastise yourself internally for the momentary lapse of memory. Even after six months the change has taken some getting used to.

"I hope you've put Caradoc on suspension," your words come out flat, indicating that you're far away from making any sort of joke.

"Not quite." Arthur bites back a chuckle. He holds up a placating hand, anticipating your response. "He saved your life, if you must know."

"If one is prepared to crash a car into _water_ , you would think one would be prepared to escape said water." You resist snorting at the end of your already pointed statement. This is _Arthur_ , after all. 

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time one of us has made a slip-up."

"Slip up -" you can't contain your annoyance anymore. Unfortunately, a voice interrupts your rant before you can have the satisfaction.

"Pellinore!" You flinch at the shout of your codename. Merlin sidles up behind you. "I expect to see you in my office. Right now." He shoots you a long look. "I know you refused treatment at the scene. You've earned yourself a check-over." 

His words are gruff, and you look to Arthur for help. He gives you the most imperceptible shrug and turns on his heel, walking away.

"Thanks a bunch," you grumble under your breath. No use putting this off. 

You remind yourself you are not a child when you find yourself plodding towards your supervisor's office. He is waiting for you - standing expectantly in front of the nondescript door. 

"I don't get a, 'Glad you're okay Pellinore. Glad you didn't _die_ because your bloody partner drove a cab in to the damn _Thames_?'" 

"You're being over dramatic," Merlin states, ushering you through the door and closing it behind. 

There's a flat couch pressed up against the far wall. It's colored a cheerful green. There's a wooden dressing screen next to it; a pair of athletic shorts and a plain white t-shirt draped over the top. 

"If you would be so kind to change - I'll wait." These words are not a request. You grumble again about not being ordered around and being able to take care of yourself. Merlin acts like he doesn't hear a thing. 

"Better?" You ask, stepping out from the behind the screen now clothed in the more pedestrian attire. 

"Are you comfortable?" his question almost surprises you. 

"I guess."

"Take a seat."

You sit on the end of the couch, legs dangling over the side. You know the routine for what's to come. 

"Your nose looks...tender." His statement only serves to make you self-conscious as you bring your hand up to dab at the dried blood under the sensitive appendage. 

"I didn't notice," you reply dryly with what you hope is a scathing look. 

"Because you so neglected to do it yourself _or_ let the medics help, I'm stuck with cleaning it up." 

He seems annoyed, but his ministrations with the warm cloth as he tidies up your face are anything but rough.

"Now, that's done," he sighs. "Vitals next." Merlin reaches for a metal tray that was normally housed next to the desk on the other side of the room. It is covered with various instruments, none of which look particularly invasive. That you are thankful for. 

He reaches for your wrist, taking your pulse while asking you if you know your name, the date, and where you're presently located. You answer as only a smartass would; giving him all that information plus rank, serial number, what your favorite lunch spot is, what previous prank you pulled on Arthur with the help of Galahad. He silences you with a plain, "Enough". You resist the urge to stick out your tongue at him. Temperature and blood pressure are next. He sets you up with the cuff while he turns on the machine. It takes a bit longer than the thermometer does as he has one of the new tech-y kind, which he swipes over your forehead. The sphygmomanometer beeps. 

"Hmmmm, it's a little low," he observes the numbers, undoing the cuff. 

"What did you expect? I was bleeding out! I almost _died_!" He gives you a long glance. You say nothing else. 

"And you could also be concussed! Which is why it's important for me to finish here." You still, trying to wait patiently for the next phase of this irritating process. "Do you have any pain in your head anywhere?" He's reaching up, feeling in your hair, behind your ears. 

"No...I don't think so."

"That's good," his tone is almost patronizing. Ugh. "What about ringing in your ears? Spots in your vision?"

"No, and no." You try to make your boredom as detectable as possible.

"Do you remember blacking out at all during the crash?" You think back, deciding that this was in no way possible due to the small amount of time you spent under the water. 

"I don't think so. I...cut us out of the car fairly quick. Don't think we would have survived otherwise." Merlin says nothing to this. He has a penlight out now, peering into your eyes; making you follow the light.

"I want to look in your ears now." You bite back the _So do it!_ sitting on your tongue, even though you know it's standard procedure for him to explain what he's doing as he goes. He's gentle as he checks for bleeding or fluid in the ear canals. There's nothing detectable. He reaches for a tongue depressor next, making you say "ahhh" and having you move your tongue back and forth. Now, this was just getting embarrassing.

"I know that look," he announces after telling you that you can relax. 

"What?" You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

"You don't need to be embarrassed. This is a standard examination. I'm just trying to establish if you've got all your senses about you. You've been through this before." You stop him before he can give you more reassurances. 

"I'm fine."

"Very well. Relax your arms at your sides." He examines them, shoulder to wrist. Squeezing lightly to detect any breaks or anomalies. He repeats the process with your legs. 

"Pull against me," he requests, grabbing both your wrists and applying resistance. "Good." You notice his tone has gotten less gruff over the course of the last few minutes. At least this is one less thing you have to be annoyed about. "Now, we'll do reflexes."

You always hate this part - never seeming to be able to relax your muscles enough for the examiner to get a good enough result. 

Merlin lays your right arm out on his left, rounded rubber hammer clutched in the right.

"Relax your arm," the tone is low, and he shakes your arm out, lightly. You try your best. Evidently it works as he seems to get the result he wants as he softly strikes your arm inside the elbow, at the wrist, and raises your elbow up to gently strike the back of the limb. 

You squirm on the couch. You're nearing your level of tolerance for this little "appointment".

"Not done yet," Merlin intones, moving to the left side of your body to repeat the procedure. "Legs next, and then you're free to leave." 

He grasps your right leg in his hand and taps gently at the knee. It jerks forward as it's supposed to. He comes down to your ankle, grabbing at the ball of your foot. 

"Flex your foot into my hand." You do as he asks, and he taps the back of your ankle. "All right. Last one," he assures, before checking your knee reflex on the left. "Your injured ankle won't give us sufficient results. We'll forego that area." Merlin straightens up, placing the hammer back on the instrument tray. Just as you think he's finished, he bends down again, grabbing for your bandaged foot. 

"Hey!" You want to recoil, but that would mean smacking your leg back against the exam couch. 

"Careful," he warns. "I just want to have a look."

"Haven't you done enough?" You can't help the raising of your voice this time.

"I won't apologize for making sure the field agent I'm responsible for has come back in one piece! Do you want a bleed in the brain? Do you want swelling that might put you in a coma? Damage that will put you on _permanent_ leave? No, I think not." 

"That doesn't mean you have to mess about with my ankle! The medics looked at it. It's only sprained."

"Well, I'd like to be sure."

"Why? I just want to be left alone! I think I've earned it. I've been through enough today."

"Have you?" Merlin straightens up, meeting your gaze. He doesn't look flippant or angry, just curious.

"Well...yeah." Your response loses it's bite. You feel a strange wave of pressure welling up in your chest. Oh...

"There's nothing physically wrong with you," Merlin begins, softly, "but I think you need a bit of a rest; time to process this." Those words seem so foreign coming out of your mentor's mouth. You often ignore his "I know better" attitude, but this time he might just be _right_. 

"I..." you trail off, a light sob escaping. He steps up, pressing your head against his shoulder. 

You cry, hit with the sudden realization that being a Kingsman exists within a fragile and uncertain reality. 

You rest on the couch when it's all over. Merlin watches over you, tucking a pillow under your head and blanket around your relaxing form.

**Author's Note:**

> I did a bit of research for this one. I cut some corners to keep the story moving, so sorry if it doesn't seem 100% accurate. I do not claim to be a medical professional.
> 
> You can (as always) find me on Tumblr as [pimpernelpages](http://www.pimpernelpages.tumblr.com)


End file.
